One fine morning, I woke up and decided to love and accept myself just the way I am. It was one of the worst decisions I ever made in my life.
I loved myself through long days of eating junk food and watching TV, until I became overweight and unhealthy. I was too lazy to work out–well, what of it? I was the type who liked to spend her day on the couch, and I accepted myself that way. I accepted my unemployed self, too–not all of us are a good fit for a regular job, after all. And who was I to force my special inner child to do things it didn’t want to do? Anyway, I was going to be a writer. Never mind that I wasn’t writing anything, forever waiting for inspiration to strike. Truth is, I wasn’t doing a goddamn thing except mooching off my very patient family. But to admit this would have meant being critical of myself. And criticizing yourself was bad and mean.
So I loved myself right into sloppiness and mediocrity and low expectations. And one day, I realized I didn’t like myself anymore. And it was freeing. I looked at my existence and thought “Um…I’m kind of a loser.” It felt great to say this out loud. Now that I was no longer delusional about who I was, I could start to work on my life and make it better.
I’ve come a long way since then, but I make sure to remind myself of that time once in a while, when it seems like my standards may be slipping again. Not to get all New Age cheesy about it, but the Universe gave me a learning experience about just how pathetic I’m capable of being. I have learned and I’ve moved on, but I will still say, in my best Grumpy Cat voice: “I don’t love myself…GOOD.”